


Living Nightmare

by Agib



Series: Febuwhump 2020 [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Illusions, Nightmares, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Poor Peter Parker, Quentin Beck Being a Jerk, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Survived Endgame, With a Prosthetic Hand to Show For it, Worried Tony Stark, mild whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22542286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agib/pseuds/Agib
Summary: Basically the FFH scene where Happy picks Peter up from the Netherlands except Tony survived Endgame and can provide much comfort™!
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Febuwhump 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619311
Comments: 9
Kudos: 253





	Living Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> Febuwhump Yay!
> 
> A _liettle beiit_ short but not too short!

_Fear has a large shadow, but he himself is small._

\----

Of all the things Tony Stark figured he’d be doing after fighting in the endgame and losing half an arm, he didn’t think it would be this.

Several hours ago, Happy had given him a call. He was saying something about the Netherlands, his voice hurried but still somehow laced with exasperation. What interested Tony was the fact that Happy was saying _Peter was in the Netherlands right now_.

“I – he’s _what?_ ” He had asked incredulously.

“He’s in the Netherlands, Tony. I didn’t believe him first either, but that’s where the GPS is, so I don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with here.” Tony groaned, nursing the confusion headache he was beginning to harbour.

“I’ll pick him up,” he said tiredly.

And now he was here, landing the jet in a tulip field somewhere in the Netherlands, for Christ’s sake. Vibrant rows of flowers littered the field, swaying with the violent wind of the jet. There was a little orange form across the field, steadily moving closer as the landing gear came down with a gentle thud.

Tony stepped out onto the ramp downwards, his eyebrows already quirked up into his hairline, looking at the kid like he had just materialised out of thin air. His posture stiffened at the bottom of the ramp when he looked a bit closer at the boy.

Peter was limping, almost falling over every couple of steps. He had dried blood in random splotches across his body, he was wincing and the dark bags beneath his eyes were literally visible from across the field. One hand was gingerly cupping beneath his hip as he walked, his weight unevenly distributed with the limp.

“Kid?” Tony called out, already moving forward to get to the battered kid. “What the hell happened?” His tone was already beginning to fill with anger, not at Peter – at whatever situation he had been in which had left him this hurt. He looked smaller than Tony remembered, but that might’ve been because he was slightly hunched with the limp.

It hadn’t been long, two months at the most. That was why he’d used this emergency pick up as a chance to see the kid.

“Mr. Stark, is that you?” Peter sounded unsure, and that immediately set off warning bells in Tony’s head.

Concussion? Memory loss? Brain damage even?

“Yeah. Yeah – it’s me, kiddo.” Tony sped up, watching the kid as he slowed down and even shuffled a step back. “What are y –”

“Stop. J – just stop,” Peter yelled. Tony froze, watching the shaky hand the boy held up. Tony lifted his arms in surrender, picking up on the discomfort Peter was displaying, his drawn brows, pinched expression and quaky fingers. “Tell me something… o – only you would know.” Peter demanded, clearly distrusting.

Tony looked up to the sky, straining his memory, flicking through things that only him and Peter would know. The clouds were thick above them, and he was trying so hard to not walk forward and scoop the kid up to the jet to patch him up already.

“Remember my stay at the hospital? After the battle with the stones?” Peter’s face tightened, he hated thinking about everything that had gone down. “Pepper and the nurses kept trying to get me to eat more, but I hated the jello cups. You ate them all for me when I slept, because they’re disgusting.” The boy nodded, already beginning to limp forward again.

“Okay – okay, it’s you. It’s really _you_ ,” Peter mumbled, picking up speed as his steps grew more and more wobbly. Tony could hear the pained grunts he made with every step.

“Kid –” he began, his worry spilling over into his voice as Peter surged forwards. Unexpectedly, Tony found himself with an armful of teenage vigilante. Peter’s arms came up around his shoulders, his face shoving into the crook of his neck, chin hooked over his shoulder.

Tony gently lowered his arms, wrapping them around behind the kid’s back and embracing the impromptu hug that reminded him so much of the first time he’d seen the boy after four years of thinking he was gone.

“It’s so good to see you,” Peter said into Tony’s shoulder. His voice was still shaky, as full of trepidation as it was with relief.

“Pete, you need to tell me what’s happening,” Tony answered after a few moments of quiet, save for the rustling of the flowers around them. “Actually, scratch that,” he decided. “Let’s just get you patched up, yeah?” He let the kid squeeze him tighter for a moment, rubbing his shoulder blade with his prosthetic hand. “C’mon,” he urged.

He ended up leaving his arm over Peter’s shoulders, hovering as the boy limped towards the jet as a precaution in case his legs gave out.

\----

Peter flinched as the alcohol wipe brushed past the jagged cut on his back, Tony was talking quietly behind him. “Sorry, try stay still,” he suggested, beginning on the stitches.

“Ow,” Peter complained, his shoulders tensing with every stitch. He jolted the deeper Tony had to push the needle. The quiet apologies Tony was giving didn’t make much difference. “ _Ow_ ,” Peter gasped, with more pain in his tone.

“Sorry, sorry. Relax.” Peter breathed outwards as Tony finished the line of stitches, tying them off with only a quick spark of pain.

“Why should I relax. I messed up – I messed up so bad.” Peter rested his head heavily against the table, his hands cupping his face unhappily. Tony stayed silent, watching the boy. “A – and I can’t stop thinking about the – the stuff Beck’s doing with my mind.”

“Well, you know that –”

“What if he does this to other people. He’s going to terrify everyone – and it’s going to be my fault, and –”

“Kid, loosen up a bit. You’re spiralling here.” Tony leaned back in his seat, putting the first aid box to the side.

“I just – h – he was doing this thing, and it felt so _real_. I’m just really, really shaken up right now,” Peter admitted quietly. He wasn’t lying, Tony could see that from the body language. Peter’s hands were trembling, he was chewing the inside of his cheek and barely making eye contact. “It felt like one of those dreams, where you just… you just can’t wake up.”

“A nightmare,” Tony stated simply.

“But it was real, I could feel it, and see it all. This isn’t some mind trick, they’re real, they can hurt you even if it’s an illusion.” Tony glanced at the bruise across the boy’s shoulder, and he knew it was real too.

“What did you see?” He asked carefully. Peter inhaled unsteadily, rubbing at his eyes with the palm of his hands.

“You, dead. Michelle, Aunt May. All of New York.” Peter shuddered. “You crawled out of a grave,” he muttered. “Your corpse, I mean.”

Tony had never heard the kid sound so unlike himself. He was barely audible, his voice trembling as much as his hands were. His eyes looked glassy and unfocused.

\----

_It was dark. So, horribly dark._

_Peter could practically feel it weighing down on him._

_His senses were screaming painfully – they had never been so loud before. His breathing hitched as the ground vibrated beneath him. He backed away like a skittish animal._

_Stone grazed his elbow and he lurched aggressively, almost falling over from the force of his own shock. He turned, feeling grass melding its way around his feet as more stone rose._

_There were names he could make out, his mind reeling with nausea from the quaking ground._

_Then it went quiet._

_All he could see was cold, grey stone in front of his face._

_Your fault. Your fault. Your fault._

_Something was moving against his shoulder, something soft, freezing cold._

_He could barely force himself to look._

_“Pete,” something gargled, inches away from his ear. The smell of burnt flesh._

_He turned, slowly, knowing before he saw._

_A bloodied hand. Charred and still smoking. It had grasped at his shoulder, black fingernails pressing into his skin._

_It tapered off at the elbow, a white bone poking out, covered in dark red blood._

_Peter gagged, trying to push it away from himself. The nails dug in deeper._

_“Give it back,” the voice hissed, in front of him now. The gravestone shattered before him, dirt peeling back as a one-armed corpse dragged itself forward._

_Peter was screaming and he couldn’t even hear it._

_“Give it back to me! This is your fault!” The voice was screeching now, clawing its way towards him, rusted metal and rotting, burnt flesh leaving a trail over the grass._

_The arm gripping his shoulder dropped to the floor, scrabbling towards him at the same pace, infinity stones falling from each knuckle a hundred times over._

_He could make out the voice, and he hated how much he recognised it._

\----

“Peter, none of it was real,” the voice – Tony – said softly. “Nothing was your fault.”

Peter was surprised to find moisture on the back of his hand as he pawed at his eyes. “Look at me,” Tony murmured. With a moment to collect himself, Peter did.

Tony reached out with both his hands, one soft, one smooth and cool with metal. “I’m alive because you came back to fight with us. You know that, right? This was the only way we could win.” He lifted his prosthetic, tapping beneath the boy’s chin.

“I – know,” Peter answered. “It still felt real though. More than a nightmare.” He clasped a hand over Tony’s fake one, gently gliding his fingers over the metal. “I miss you sometimes,” he admitted almost silently.

“I miss you too, kiddo,” Tony said without skipping a beat. “But you know I’m always here, you just have to call.” Peter nodded, but he looked doubtful. “I don’t care if it’s a living nightmare like this or a stupid dream, I’m here for you.”

“I know. Thank you,” Peter said sheepishly. Tony waited a beat, squeezing the kid’s hand once more before standing up.

“Now, what are we going to do about this guy?”

**Author's Note:**

> And then Peter woke up and realised this had all been one of Beck's illusions too because Tony died snapping the stones.
> 
> Just kidding - that would've been too emotionally traumatising for everyone involved if I wrote shit like that :)
> 
> Quote at the beginning by Ruth Gendler!  
> 
> 
> Give @spidersonangst @febufluff-whump (on Tumblr) all the credit, the only reason this is happening this month is because of them!


End file.
